The Stiehl Assassin

by Terry Brooks

  And a trap from which Drisker Arc could not escape.

  As she flew west—a direction she chose at random—she mulled over her choices. She knew the history of the Druid order better than anyone, having read the Druid Histories and attendant papers over the years. She had studied them thoroughly, and within their pages were the answers to anything she might want to know. She just needed to pull out the one solution that was foolproof.

  And quickly enough, she knew what it was.

  She continued flying west, the night providing her with a comforting shroud of darkness, the stars and moon bright and glowing overhead, the earth below a vague tapestry on which the lines of her future would soon be drawn. She needed to sleep, but she wanted to fly a bit farther first—out over the sweep of the Callahorn before turning south onto the Tirfing. She wanted to think about her plan. She needed to consider it from all possible angles and measure its chances for success.

  She did so undisturbed, and by the time she landed her craft and curled up in a blanket to sleep, she was reassured that she had found what she was looking for.

  The following morning, she set out once more. By this time, she had changed her mind about the marker. When she reached her destination, she would remove it from her clothing and grind it into dust. Then there would be nothing left for Drisker to rely on. She need not worry about him after that—at least, not until she was ready for him. When the time was right, she would simply summon him using the scrye orb.

  When she had crossed the Tirfing and passed into the Westland, she continued on, flying north of the Pykon and the Wilderun toward the towering wall of the Rock Spur. She was following the westernmost branch of the Mermidon by now, using it as a guide to bring her to what she sought.

  The sky ahead darkened with the storm clouds that perpetually hung across the Rock Spur, a clear warning of the dangers that could be found in those mountains. Already, it was beginning to rain, and once it started it would get much worse. She increased her speed, worried not about getting wet but about winds that could hurtle her small craft into the cliffs and leave her corpse dangling in the rocks for the vultures.

  And then she caught sight of it.

  There, on the left bank of the Mermidon, high in the mountains where it had been built centuries ago by Elves as a fortress to stand against all invaders, was Cleeg Hold. A vast outer wall closed about the keep and outbuildings, rising more than two hundred feet, jutting out of the rocks like a cancer that nature had been unable to stop from growing, there in the bleakness and dark. It was abandoned now and had been for hundreds of years. But neither time nor weather had done much to reduce it, and the structure looked as formidable as ever. Although only vermin and carrion birds made their home within, Cleeg hold was exactly right for what Clizia Porse had planned.

  This time, Drisker Arc, you won’t find it so easy to walk away from the snare I shall set for you.

  Once she had landed, the first thing she did was to remove the tracker attached to her robes, grind it into dust, and cast the remnants into the Mermidon.

  * * *

  —

  The next morning, Clizia began the work of constructing her trap at a narrow juncture of a maze of corridors on the northern side of the keep where the light was weakest, the stone slippery and treacherous, and the winds a relentless howling that filled the air with sounds that defied description. She found a room suitable for habitation on the other side of Cleeg Hold, one with a bed that was still in reasonably good shape and a fireplace that worked perfectly. She used bedding from her aircraft to make herself a hidden nest, and hunkered down to work.

  The plan she had devised required a room or closed space where the Druid could be trapped. It required that she negate his unusually strong magic with sufficient stone and iron and earth that it would take considerable time to break free—time she wouldn’t allow him. Finally, it would require a potion so powerful that no one had used it in centuries and thought it lost forever.

  But nothing was lost to her, she mused. She had not spent her time at Paranor in idle speculation. Reading the Druid Histories had revealed many things, and few besides herself had bothered to delve deep enough to uncover as much as she had. The potion she required was described in detail, one of those forbidden forms of magic that had been used only once before a prohibition had been placed on it.

  The potion was called liquid night, and it was used on Grianne Ohmsford to send her into the Forbidding.

  Her age-twisted mouth managed a self-congratulatory smile. It would be the final piece of the trap she was setting for Drisker Arc, and when she had mixed it she would summon the Druid, and he would come for her and seal his own fate.

  But first she must construct a confinement that would hold Drisker prisoner while the liquid did its work. The magic she would employ for this was called a triagenel. It, too, had been used only once before, and once again was meant to be used against Grianne Ohmsford. A renegade Druid named Shadea a’Ru, who had sought to replace the unpopular Grianne as Ard Rhys, had constructed it with the help of other Druid renegades wedded to her cause, but her efforts had failed. A triagenel required three magic wielders to construct it and consisted of webbing that would collapse about the intended victim the moment he or she entered the space over which it was hung. Once it was dropped, the victim was immobilized until freed.

  Which would not be necessary in Drisker’s case, since the liquid night was sending him to a place from which he would never be able to return.

  Clizia did not have other magic wielders to aid her in this effort, however, which meant her construction of the triagenel would necessarily be flawed. It might not work exactly as she intended, but because she was the equal of any three other magic wielders, a close approximation would do. If she didn’t get it entirely right, it wouldn’t matter. All she wanted was to prevent Drisker from leaving the space in which she was intending to trap him for a few precious minutes.

  It took her four days to complete the triagenel. When it was done, she rested a day, and on the sixth day she began work using a mix of ingredients and magic to brew the liquid night.

  * * *

  —

  Drisker and his young companions had begun their search for Clizia almost immediately. Leaving the Federation camp and an irate Ketter Vause behind, they had retrieved their aircraft and set out. Using the tracker the Druid had embedded in her robes, they flew west in the direction it indicated Clizia was fleeing, but it soon became apparent that, after being up almost the entire night, they needed to stop and rest. So they landed their modified two-man on the eastern border of the Streleheim, rolled into their bedrolls, and slept into early morning. When they woke, they ate breakfast in silence—the Kaynin siblings intimidated by the Druid’s dour expression and his seeming reluctance even to look at them—before setting off once more.

  On the third day of their pursuit, the tracking device ceased to function. It happened all at once, its signal a clear guide one minute and gone entirely the next.

  Drisker gave a deep sigh. “She found it,” he told the other two, and they did not need to ask what he was referring to.

  So now he was faced with an impossible dilemma. Did they continue their hunt and hope to locate her by chance? Or did they return to Paranor and keep watch on the scrye waters, hoping an ill-advised usage of her magic would give her away? Neither was a very appealing choice. But they had no other way of finding her without the help of the Blue Elfstones, and those were in the possession of Brecon Elessedil and on their way to Skaarsland.

  By now, the Druid and his young companions were flying into the Westland north of the Wilderun, and it was a long trip back to Paranor, which in turn was a long way from where Clizia appeared to be going. Perhaps it was better to continue on, stopping every now and then to ask if she had been seen. They had been so close to capturing her that Drisker hated the idea of turning around, even wi
th the odds against them. So for the moment, he just kept flying west.

  Midday came and went, although they stopped for a quick meal. By nightfall, they had seen no sign of Clizia, and it had been more than eight hours since the tracker had failed. At that point, Drisker gave Tarsha and Tavo a choice about what they would do. They could either keep searching or turn back. His own mind was made up—he would continue, even if they decided not to. The siblings heard him out, and both immediately announced they would stay with him.

  The next six days were more of the same, endless hours of flying in all directions, searching the sky and landscape for something that would reveal her whereabouts, speculating as they went on what she might do next. Tavo believed she would circle back and try to finish what she had started with Ketter Vause. Tarsha was worried that Clizia might have decided to go back to Emberen to try to get her hands on Drisker’s books of magic.

  But Drisker had a strong suspicion by now that his continued efforts to thwart Clizia’s plans had reached the point where ridding herself of him had become a priority. So long as he lived, she would face the same constant harassment. So long as he lived, there would always be a chance that he would catch up to her again.

  On the seventh day, just after dawn—when they were deep into the Westland and close to the Rock Spur—the scrye orb Drisker carried still grew bright and warm against his body. When he pulled it out, there was Clizia Porse.

  “Would you like to put an end to this?” she asked.

  He could barely hear her above the sound of the wind rushing past him. They were back aboard their aircraft, flying along the edge of the mountains south.

  “What do you want, Clizia?”

  Her smile was hard and bitter. “You dead. The same thing you want for me. I’m sick of running from you. Let’s settle this.”

  “Where are you?”

  She told him the name of the abandoned fortress and its approximate location. She could have stopped with the name. He knew exactly where Cleeg Hold could be found. This was a trap, almost certainly. But it was also their best chance of getting their hands on her and settling matters, once and for all.

  “I’m coming,” he told her and shoved the orb back in his robes.

  He glanced over at his two companions. Tarsha shook her head. “She’s planning something.”

  He nodded and smiled. “Then we must plan something, as well.”

  * * *

  —

  Clizia Porse returned her scrye orb to her pocket. Everything was in place. She had constructed the triagenel and brewed a tiny batch of liquid night. She had conceived of a plan for luring Drisker to where she would spring her trap. Earlier, even before dawn, she had dampened the fire in her sleeping chamber so nothing of her presence on the leeward side of the keep could be detected, packed up her Sprint, and left it out in the open so that it could easily be seen. She retraced for the twentieth time the steps she would take to lead Drisker to the fate she intended for him and moved to the edge of the landing space where her Sprint was anchored. Standing back in the shadows where she could watch an aircraft approach from any of three directions without being seen, she put her back to a rock wall and waited.

  The wait was short. Drisker must not have been far away because his aircraft appeared within the hour. Winging down from out of a darkened sky that foretold a storm’s approach, the modified two-man slowed as it neared and settled next to hers. He might have chosen another landing site, but the rugged slopes of the mountain allowed for nothing better, and there was no reason to hide his coming since she already knew what he intended.

  She waited until the three passengers had disembarked and were looking around before launching an attack. She struck out in a wide sweep, so that it would appear she was seeking to bring down all three, but it was the brother she was after. They were prepared, their defenses up, their magic in place against any attack, and so they were able to protect themselves. But Tavo took the brunt of her dark magic’s force and was thrown backward against the side of the airship. She paused just long enough to watch Tarsha run to her brother, leaving Drisker to respond. The Druid did so instantly, a streak of blue fire hammering into the wall against which she crouched. Even though it was well off the mark, she cried out as if it hurt before fleeing back inside the fortress.

  From there, she retreated at a steady pace, hearing Drisker’s movements as he charged after her, determined this time to bring her to bay, his reckless insistence easy to read from the urgency of his footsteps. Three times they exchanged blows, their magic lancing through the gloom and careering off the fortress walls, sending shards of rock flying. But mostly they ran, Clizia able to keep her distance from him even though she was slower because Drisker could not risk running headlong into an attack that might be waiting around each blind corner.

  They called back and forth to each other, Clizia taunting him for his ineffectiveness, Drisker replying with promises of what would happen if she did not give herself over to him. As if she had summoned him here for that, she thought darkly. As if she would ever concede to him under any circumstances.

  Finally she arrived at the location of the trap she had constructed and paused beneath the almost completed triagenel. Hands shaking with expectation and eagerness, she connected the last of the strands of the triagenel netting that would be activated instantly by his body heat, then retreated a few steps to put herself out of reach. Hearing his approach, she dropped to one knee, bent her head, and began gasping as if fighting for breath. As if run to ground. As if finished.

  Drisker appeared, huge and black in his robes, slowing as he neared the trap. “Clizia,” he hissed on seeing her. “Surrender to me.”

  He could see her dilapidated condition and noted the rents and stains in her damaged robes. She waited, unmoving.

  “Clizia!” he shouted.

  “Never!” she screamed back at him.

  He started for her, his hands alive with the blue light of his Druid magic. “It’s over, Clizia.”

  “For you, it is,” she whispered, reaching into her robes, her fingers closing about the vial of liquid night.

  She tossed the vial at his feet so that it shattered against the stone flooring. Instantly, a dark mist rose, enveloping the Druid. Throwing herself clear as he started to thrash, she let his body heat trigger the triagenel, which fell down on top of him. Two quick bursts of magic—one behind him and one just ahead—instantly formed walls that sealed him into the killing zone. Scrambling quickly backward, she watched Drisker Arc and the entire chamber vanish.

  After, she climbed back to her feet and stood watching for long minutes. Nothing reappeared. Drisker was gone. This time, unlike the last, there would be no returning from where she had sent him.

  Because the passageway ahead was blocked, she continued on the way she had been going, intent on returning to her airship and leaving this place.

  But first she would settle the fates of the Kaynin siblings.

  THIRTY-ONE

  WHEN CLIZIA EMERGED FROM the depths of Cleeg Hold, the storm was in full force. The skies were filled with black, roiling clouds lanced through with streaks of lightning and exploding with thunder, and rain was sheeting down. In the mountains of Rock Spur, the brilliance of the lightning and the booming of the thunder reflected and reverberated off rock walls and through gaps in the peaks with a ferocity reminiscent of battles fought with magic in earlier times, among the Faerie people. She hunched back into the shadows from which she had emerged as fat rain pellets hammered down, shrinking from the wet sting of their blows against her skin.

  She was on the opposite side of the passageway into which she had fled with Drisker, and she stood now on an elevated stone ledge overlooking the landing site and the two aircraft that occupied it. Streamers of mist rolled over the clearing and the two figures crouched within their haze. Tarsha had lifted Tavo into a sitting position s
o that he was leaning against her. Her head was bent close to his, invisible within the cowl of her cloak, but Clizia could tell that she was speaking to him. Neither was aware of her presence. Both were helpless before her.

  She gave a moment’s thought to convincing them to join her. Drisker was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. Would they not be better off being with her, partnering to form a new Druid order? What else was left to them? If they rebuffed her, where would they go? No other opportunity awaited them—no chance for a better life than what she could offer. If they could put aside the lies they had been told about her and their own fears, she could do so much for them. She could teach them how to use their magic and how…

  She broke off her musing. No. She knew it was too late for any of that. She knew they would never trust her again, and the girl would never forgive what she had done to Drisker Arc.

  Better to end it here.

  She stepped from hiding and took a quick look around. A worn and ancient stone stairway led down from her ledge to the landing space the siblings now occupied. She would have easy access to them. Strike quickly, before they are aware of me, and I will gain the upper hand.

  She summoned magic to her fingertips and formed a fiery ball. Measuring the distance required, she sent it spiraling into Tarsha Kaynin with all the force she could muster. The girl raised her head, perhaps sensing the danger she was in, just as the magic struck her such a terrible blow that it lifted her right off her feet and threw her twenty feet away and over the cliffside, where she dropped from view.

  Clizia walked to the edge of her rocky platform and looked down at Tavo Kaynin, who was staring at her in shock. He turned away, searching for his sister. With strength that came from some deep reserve Clizia did not know it was possible to possess, he climbed to his feet and, with a scream that cut through the sounds of the storm surrounding them, activated the wishsong. The force of his magic slammed into her, throwing her backward to sprawl in a shallow skein of cold dampness. She lay stunned a moment, and then shifted out of herself to form a dozen images that rose to face him.